


working hard for the money

by Ravenspear



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, M/M, Roleplay, Sex Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-20
Updated: 2012-07-20
Packaged: 2017-11-10 08:25:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/464226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravenspear/pseuds/Ravenspear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“God, that is the saddest story I have ever heard. We’re going to have to get you a better brothel experience, because this just won’t stand.”</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Clint and Steve indulge in some roleplaying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	working hard for the money

**Author's Note:**

> All my thanks to Zekkass, who is glorious.
> 
> This was written for my Kink Bingo square "prostitution/sex work."

(It starts with an awkward confession.

They’re discussing first times, curled up in bed but adrenaline leaving both unable to sleep, and Steve knows he’s blushing when he recounts the rather catastrophic visit to an English bordello back in ‘43.

Clint laughs like he thinks Steve is the best, most fantastic thing in the world, which makes Steve feel a bit better about the whole thing, then says “God, that is the saddest story I have ever heard. We’re going to have to get you a better brothel experience, because this just won’t stand.”

Steve frowns. “I don’t see any reason to visit another... place like that. I’m not- I don’t want to. I rather just have this.”

Clint rolls his eyes. “You are the least fun individual I know, Steve,” he says, reaching out to curl his arms about Steve’s neck. “But you’re a pretty romantic guy, so can’t say I care too much.”

Then Clint kisses him, soft and lazy, and Steve thinks that’s the end of that.)

 

* * *

 

Steve comes back to the Tower more or less carrying Tony, who is currently mumbling in what Steve thinks might be Farsi, presumably about Steve’s ancestry, judging from Thor’s cheerful, if chiding responses. Natasha has been clinging to Thor’s back since the bar, when she’d demanded he carry her home if she beat him at darts (which she’d done, even while falling down drunk).

It hadn’t been his ideal way to spend the evening, mostly because Clint had begged out, citing paperwork that Coulson would kill him (“Seriously, he will _literally_ kill me”) over if he didn’t get it done, but it had been fun. Fun-ish. At the very least mildly pleasant.

“‘M going to t’lab,” Tony mutters when they reach the elevator, pushing away from Steve to press the button for the floor where he keeps his workshop and Bruce’s lab, and managing to hit both that, and the buttons for five other floors. “See what Bruce’s doin’.” (Steve has to stop him from leaving the elevator at three wrong floors, and suffers several Tony Stark-glares for his troubles before Tony finally ambles off at the right one.)

“Natasha and I shall detour to Tony’s kitchen before retiring to her quarters,” Thor says as he presses the button for the top floor. “We shall relieve him of the leftover cake from Bruce’s birthday party, then make use of the wonderful TiVo device to catch up on Corazón Doloroso.”

“Well, I hope you’ll have fun,” Steve says, frankly kind of wondering if Natasha’s even still awake, or if she’s sleeping and just hanging onto Thor’s back by grace of a highly developed self-preservation instinct.

“You as well, Captain! Give our regards to Clint!” Thor says cheerfully as Steve gets out at the ‘Team Bedroom Floor’ (not to be confused with the ‘General Team Floor’ or the ‘Team Gym Floor’), and Steve can’t help but to blush just a little at the knowing glint in Thor’s eyes.

“Good night!” Steve calls as the doors close on his teammates, then lets out a great sigh of relief as silence settles around him. It’s been a long, loud night, and the stillness of the corridor is bliss to his overstimulated senses, so he takes half a minute to just soak in it before he heads towards Clint’s room.

As he walks, he idly wonders if Clint finished his paperwork, or if they’ll be subjected to a very unpleasant morning tomorrow with Coulson breaking into the Tower and dragging Clint back to SHIELD headquarters to finish the paperwork and to sit through another three days of sensitivity training (Clint’s told him the class is held by Fury and is called “You Should Treasure and Respect Coulson and Make His Life As Easy As You Possibly Can, Because If You Don’t, I’m the One Who Has to Deal With His Cranky Ass, and Then I Will Have to Kill You, Barton, Ot At Least Send You Somewhere You Won’t Like At All”).

When he opens the door, he’s planning on asking if Clint remembered to finish filling out the POR-61 Steve found in his sock drawer last week, but his mouth snaps shut before even the first syllable makes its way past his lips.

For a moment, he thinks he’s gotten the wrong room. Clint’s bedroom has always been a spartan, largely impersonal thing; just the standard furniture Tony had provided when they all moved in, and no personal touches (Clint keeps everything that means anything hidden away in nooks and crannies; close, but never out in the open for all to see).

This room is nothing like that. The lights are dim and red-tinted; dark, sheer fabric thrown over lampshades. There’re new, thick carpets covering the floor, and new drapes, and the walls hold rows of framed pictures of... people engaged in _intimate acts_.

And dragged out into the middle of the room is the bed; dark sheets that look far too soft and shiny to be entirely moral.

And _on_ said immoral sheets Clint is sitting, dressed in the skinniest pair of jeans Steve’s ever seen, and _only_ the jeans, and wait, is that _eyeliner_ -

“Well hel _lo_ , tiger,” Clint greets, mouth twisting up into a lewd grin, and Steve gets distracted from his confusion for a few seconds in favor of staring at Clint’s lips instead, and somewhere in the back of his head he debates the possibility that Clint could be wearing lipgloss, because they’re really kind of shiny and plump and- and Steve should really stop that train of thought, or he might do something really embarrassing.

“Um. Um, what...” Steve stutters, ears burning. “What’s this?”

Clint raises an eyebrow and leans back on the bed, hands behind his hips, and okay, suddenly there is a lot of arm muscles and chest on display, but Steve will try not to let that distract him too much. “What does it look like, sweetheart?” Clint asks, and his voice, his accent, is strange; a drawl Steve doesn’t recognize, and a teasing quality that feels different from usual.

“Um... Well, it looks... It... It looks a bit like... that... _bordello_...?” he tries, and when he manages to hiss out the last word, Clint smiles wide like the cat with the proverbial canary and nods at Steve, pleased, and oh. _Oh_. So this had been what- Oh. Okay. Yes.

“Well,” Steve says, clears his throat. “How are...? What should I do?”

Clint’s legs fall open, toes curling into the carpet. “I don’t know, lover,” he replies, ducking his head and looking up at Steve through lowered lashes. “What do you want? What can you pay for?”

And just like that Steve can feel a bit of his awkwardness melt away. He understands the rules now; he knows what to do. He knows how to give orders.

“Come over here,” he says, and he sees the spark in Clint’s eyes at his ‘Captain-voice’. “On your knees.”

Clint fairly _slithers_ off the bed, and crawls across the carpet to kneel in front of him, and his hand is oh so very warm as it comes to rest on his thigh. “Right down to business,” he drawls. “I can respect that,” he continues, hand sliding up to undo Steve’s belt. “A blowjob is five-hundred.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Isn’t that a bit expensive?”

Clint shrugs as he tugs Steve’s fly down. “I’m an expensive kind of guy,” he replies, and when he looks up, his eyes are deeply unimpressed. “What? Can’t afford it, big boy?”

Steve smiles. “You don’t need to worry about that,” he answers lowly, hand coming to rest in Clint’s hair. “I’m a bit of a celebrity,” he admits, and honestly can’t help ducking his head a bit as he feels the blush crawl up his neck, no matter how he tries.

Clint favors him with a smirk as he pulls Steve’s cock out of his pants and starts working him with his hand. “Oh? You famous, tiger? Let me guess. A movie star?”

“Military hero, or at least that’s what they say,” Steve replies, tries to breathe evenly despite that twist Clint does with his wrist.

“Huh,” Clint breathes. “That pay well?” he asks as he reaches into his back pocket and comes back with a condom. It makes Steve frown for a few seconds, because Clint hates condoms, but then he gets it.

“I’m owed a lot of back pay,” he explains, and when Clint brings the condom packet to his mouth to rip it open, Steve reaches down to snatch his wrist. “And you don’t need that.”

Clint pauses in his stroking. “I don’t do anything bare,” he tells Steve, looks so deadly serious that Steve kind of wants to just let it go, but...

“I’ll pay you for your troubles,” Steve says, picking the condom out of Clint’s fingers and tosses it away over his shoulder.

“You can’t pay me that much,” Clint insists, and his eyes are _nervous_ , and Steve feels a bit guilty, even though he knows it’s an act.

Steve doesn’t reply, just reaches into his back pocket, and he is going to have a serious talk with Clint later about getting other people overly involved in their sexlife, because it suddenly seems all too convenient that Tony told Steve to safeguard his money clip back when they were at the bar.

The clip is fat with hundred-dollar bills and Clint has this oddly proud look in his eyes when Steve shows it to him.

“Are you sure?” Steve asks, tossing the clip at the bed.

Clint hesitates a few seconds, and then his mouth is on Steve’s cock, hot and wet and - _God_ \- so perfect, and Steve curses under his breath, and curls fingers into the short hair at the back of Clint’s head. “You’re really too good at that,” he breathes as Clint swallows him down, then groans as he hums around him. “Far too good.”

Clint keeps it up for long minutes, alternating between pulling back to lick and suck and kiss, and taking Steve in as far as he can go, and it’s good, so fucking good, but Steve finds himself gripping hard on Clint’s hair, pulling him back and off. “Let me,” he says softly, his free hand coming up to cup Clint’s cheek, thumb dragging across a bruised lip (and yes, definitely lipgloss).

He waits until Clint nods minutely, then holds his head steady and his mouth open as he fucks in, a slow slide until Clint _gags_ around him, and he moans, pulling out to let Clint get his breath back, then does it again, and again, Clint gagging and choking and making desperate little huffing noises as he struggles to keep his breathing steady.

Steve gets a bit lost in the sensation, and the sounds, but then there’s three rapid taps against his knee, and he pulls back, trying to make eye contact as Clint struggles to breathe.

“You okay?” he whispers as Clint coughs.

Clint nods. “Mm, I’m brilliant,” he replies, voice raspy and dry, once the coughing dies down. “I like it when you do that. Wanna start up again?”

“You sure you’re up for it?”

“Fuck yeah, bring it on,” he says, lips curling into a lopsided smirk, and pupils blown big and black.

So Steve does, fucks Clint’s face until he feels his orgasm curl in his belly. “Swallow it,” he says, sliding back into his giving-orders-voice, thrusting in as far as he can go and staying there, and Clint gives a whole-body shudder and moans, and that’s it, Steve’s vision whites out as he comes down Clint’s throat, and Clint swallows obediently before pulling back and collapsing onto the rug, breathing in heavy gulps.

“You’re good at your job,” Steve tells him, and watches Clint shiver and arch off the floor, looking up at Steve with eyes that usually means Steve’s going to be bent over something.

But not tonight, he doesn’t think.

Instead, he walks over to the bed, sits up against the headboard and waits for Clint to control his breathing.

It takes a few minutes, then Clint is sitting up, eyes calculating as he looks at Steve.

“Take off your pants and get on the bed,” Steve says simply, and watches Clint as he obeys, shimmies out of his jeans with a lot more ease than Steve would have expected before he crawls onto the bed.

“Come over here,” Steve orders, pats his thighs. “Straddle me.”

Clint smirks as he complies, and looks far too pleased with himself as he reaches for Steve’s flaccid cock.

But Steve stops him, fingers tight around his wrist. “No,” he says. “I want you touch yourself.”

Again, that nervousness in Clint’s eye, and fuck but he is a good actor when he tries. “That’s a pretty odd request, tiger,” he drawls. “You sure you don’t want me to just-”

“Very sure,” Steve says, guiding Clint’s hand to his own cock, waiting hard and hot, and Steve cups Clint’s hand, wraps Clint’s fingers around his cock and sets him a pace. “I want to see this. Want to see you.”

When he pulls his hands back, Clint keeps going, eyes dark and not looking away from Steve’s face for a second. “You’re beautiful,” Steve tells him, because he is, and Clint must see something special in his eyes, because he breathes a quiet “ _fuck_ ” as he speeds up.

Steve has a pretty good recovery time, when it comes to sex (“Not only did I find myself a younger guy, of course I had to get the one with super-stamina. Good job, Barton; you’ll never be able to keep up.”), and as Clint start making soft, strangled noises, Steve feels the arousal return, warm and tingling underneath his skin as his cock starts growing hard again.

“I want you to come,” Steve whispers, hand settling on Clint’s knee. “Let me see it.”

“You suck at playing the john,” Clint grumbles, but he twines the fingers of his free hand with Steve’s and squeezes them as he starts fucking his fist, eyes slipping closed and it’s with an aborted, swallowed breath that he comes on Steve’s belly. “Happy, sweetheart?”

Steve doesn’t answer. Instead, he takes advantage of Clint’s post-orgasm haze to knock him on his back, then swiftly flip him over, face down into the sheets.

“Going again already?” Clint breathes as Steve settles between his legs, a hand between his shoulder blades. “You’re a greedy one, aren’t you?” he laughs, and Steve pushes him down harder when he tries to squirm. “Lube’s under the pillow.”

“Not going to need it,” Steve tells him, dragging his fingers through the come on his stomach.

Clint’s breath hitches. “Going to have to disagree with you there, tiger. Get the lube,” he says, but his body belies his words as he cants his hips, spreads his legs wider.

“Not going to need it,” he repeats, stroking wet fingers down Clint’s crack, circling the rim of his hole. “Trust me.”

“Sorry, but trust doesn’t come easy in this- _fuck!”_ The curse is followed closely by a moan as Steve crooks his finger inside, pressing down firm on Clint’s prostate. “Son of a _bitch..._ ” Clint growls, body sagging, and legs spreading even wider as Steve pulls his finger out, only to spit on it and its neighbor before pushing back in.

“See?” Steve says, fingers twisting and scissoring, driving shivers up Clint’s spine. “No problem. You’re used to this.”

Clint moans something, and Steve isn’t sure if it’s an insult or praise or just telling him to _“goddamn it, go faster!”_

Not that it matters, because all of them comes with the same reward, and Clint’s breath comes out in a whine as Steve sinks three fingers into him, working him open.

Steve considers working another finger in, and maybe the thumb, too. “So how much would it cost me to put my hand into you?” he asks, ignores the blush crawling up his face and all the way down his back, and smiles when a shocked moan rips its way out of Clint’s throat and his ass clenches hard around Steve’s fingers. “Never mind,” he says as he pulls his hand free and spits into it, using it to slick his cock. “It was just a hypothetical question.”

Clint sounds like he’s being punched when Steve presses inside, like all the breath is being forced right out of him, and whimpers and tries to push back onto Steve’s cock when he goes slow, working his way in inch by inch with shallows thrusts that leave Clint cursing.

When Steve bottoms out, Clint is breathing heavily, and in between gasps he hisses _“please, please, please, don’t do this, fuck me, please.”_

So Steve pulls out, almost entirely, and then thrusts back in hard, and Clint howls and inhales on a _“fuck yes”_ as Steve wraps his arms around him and sits up, putting Clint in his lap, and Clint moans shamelessly as he slides further down onto Steve’s cock.

“Fuck, Steve, you’re going to be the death of me,” Clint breathes as Steve lifts him by his hips and pulls him back down, manhandles him on his cock, and Clint’s head falls backward to rest on Steve’s shoulder. “Not that I mind, ‘cause what a way to go, right?” And Steve agrees, because Clint is gorgeous like this, and he never wants to stop touching him. 

After a particularly harsh thrust, Steve lets go of Clint’s hips and lets him just fall back against Steve’s chest, noting the bruises already starting to show as he slides a hand around to Clint’s cock.

He finds it soft, and Clint gives him an irritated moan. “Fuck, Steve, no. I’m _forty-two_ , and I can’t, and don’t you fucking _dare_ try. Just. Just fuck me, okay? I don’t need more than that, just-” He chokes on the rest of the words as Steve lifts him up and pulls him down hard, and whatever noises he makes after that are intelligible as Steve fucks him harsh and just a little bit reckless, and when Steve comes again, it’s with his teeth digging bruises into Clint’s shoulder as his brain decides to short out.

His brain comes back online to Clint elbowing him in the ribs. “Steve, gerroff,” he grumbles, voice muffled by the sheets. “Yer heavy.”

Steve rolls off him, and Clint instantly flips onto his back and takes a deep, deep breath. “Thanks,” he yawns. “Much appreciated.”

“Likewise,” Steve replies, reaching out to drag his hand through Clint’s hair.

Clint grins. “I fucking _said_ I was gonna give you a better brothel experience,” he laughs. “So, you happy with the evening?”

“I’m always happy with you,” Steve says, because Clint looks so young and carefree and lovely right now, and because it’s _true_ , and because he _loves_ him.

Clint’s grin melts into a soft smile, and his fingers find Steve’s. “You’re such a romantic,” he points out before he kisses him.

Steve doesn’t protest it.


End file.
